


Olympic Tryouts (part 11)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [11]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 11)

**Author's Note:**

> here’s one more part before i leave town for the weekend at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow.
> 
> a million thank you’s to everyone reading this, y’all are awesome.

“There you aaaare!” Quinn slurs, stumbling giddily into Santana as she climbs back through the back door, breaking her hold on Brittany to catch Quinn before she ends up on the floor.

“Woah there, killer,” Santana harumphs, pulling Quinn upright and throwing an arm around her waist for support.

“You’re missing the Rachel Barbara Berry show, I’m sure you’re all tore up from the floor up about that!” Quinn snorts loudly into a deep laugh and Santana rolls her eyes in Rachel’s direction as she crouches over the karaoke machine, queuing up the next song.

“Let’s take a load off, Drunkie McDrunkerson,” jokes Santana, speaking about both Quinn and herself as she tries to direct them towards the couch. They fall into it gracelessly, Santana tumbling half on top of Quinn amid a fit of giggles.

“Ow! Watch it with those pointy elbows, Lopez!” whines Quinn, rubbing at her ribs dramatically.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll get a pointy elbow somewhere else entirely!” bluffs Santana, throwing her legs over Quinn’s lap and sinking further into the couch cushions as Brittany takes the microphone and the crowd begins to quiet.

“Wanky,” barbs Quinn, landing her another quick elbow jab.

“Ahem!” Brittany clears her throat loudly, calling for attention. “This next lovely number is dedicated to all of you bitches,” she states, nodding across the room. “Hit it, Berry,” she commands, standing tall and winking at Santana quickly before her features turn stoic. The opening snare drums sound from the speakers and Santana can’t help but cackle with laughter at the song choice, throwing her head back with glee. The bars of Mulan’s ‘I’ll Make a Man Out of You’ radiate around the room and there are spontaneous whoops from teammates as Brittany turns completely in-character, standing at rigid attention.

It can’t be the first time she’s done this song, considering she’s got choreographed dance moves to each line and belts out each verse like it’s the most important thing she may ever do.

“You’re the saddest bunch I ever met,” she sings, pointing around the room to the crowd of teammates, “but you can BET before we’re through, mister, I’ll make a man out of yooooouuuuuu,” she belts, sidling up in front of Rachel and poking her right between the eyes.

She progresses effortlessly and hilariously through the song, each different character voice completely spot on. There’s loads of fist pumping, bicep flexing and imaginary sword fighting through the climax, even a few perfectly executed high leg kicks for good measure.

By the end, she has everyone joined in in their deepest singing voices for the final lines, belting out repeated “be a maaaaaan!” in between hearty laughter at Brittany’s antics. 

“Mysterious aaaas the daaark side of the MOOOOOOOOON!”

Santana thinks she’s never seen someone so goofy, graceful and intriguing in her whole life as she watches Brittany fall to one knee in center of the room, singing out the final bar with one hand extended to the ceiling.

There’s raucous applause and pats on the back, but Brittany only seems to have eyes for Santana through the bodies surrounding her, catching her eye and giggling from across the room as Quinn starts to pet Santana on the top of the head. Santana throws Brittany her best stink-face.

“You’re so fucked, Lopez,” Quinn mutters into Santana’s ear huskily.

“I know,” Santana relents, her eyes still on Brittany. “Deep, deep trouble.”

_____

Eventually the party begins to die down. Quinn starts snoring on Santana’s shoulder during Rachel’s third straight rendition of ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade,’ so Santana finally pulls herself reluctantly from the clutches of the couch and to her feet, yanking Quinn up by both arms and up over her back, lifting her easily off the floor and carrying her from the room. She finds an empty couch in a quiet study towards the front of the house, dumping her unceremoniously onto it and hauling up her legs. Quinn amazingly doesn’t stir, just continues to snore through a wide open mouth.

Santana then goes on a scavenger hunt through the house looking for blankets, finding a few in an upstairs hall closet. She covers Quinn quickly and falls to the floor under her, stretching out and sighing loudly. In what feels like an instant, she’s fast asleep.

_____

Santana wakes to soft nudging on her arm. “Santanaaaaaa,” comes a sing-song of a whisper. “Wake uuuppppp.”

“Ughhhhhhhh,” she groans, flipping onto her stomach and burrowing her head under the pillow. “What is it, Quinn? Leave me aloneeeee,” she whines, still half asleep and definitely still drunk.

“I want to show you something,” the voice whispers, closer this time as a hand rubs gentle circles into her back. Santana finally realizes the voice belongs to Brittany and not Quinn, so she rolls back over, squinting in the direction of Brittany’s voice. Her contacts are crusty and dry, Brittany’s figure blurred but super close, leaning on an elbow right alongside Santana, where it looks like she was also sleeping. Her eyes finally adjust to the darkness of the study and Brittany’s hair is mussed in a messy bun, her eye makeup slightly smudged from rubbing her eyes and Santana can’t help but think she looks more beautiful than ever, that familiar burning starting deep in her belly.

“What time is it?” Santana rasps, splaying out her arms wildly across the floor in search of her phone. None of the blinds are shut yet it’s still nearly pitch black, the horizon beginning to break into dawn.

“Just before six. I’m going to need you to get up though,” she whispers in her softest voice, as if she’s already figured out that Santana is an early morning grouch. “It’ll be worth it, I promise. And here,” she opens her palm to two Advil and nodding to a full glass of water just above her head.

“Ah yes, you are perfect, thank you,” Santana moans, throwing back the pills and chugging the entire glass of water. “I think I’m still drunk,” she confesses, rubbing at her temples.

“Same,” Brittany agrees, chuckling lightly. ”Also did I dream doing karaoke or did that actually happen?”

"Oh that most definitely happened and it was amazing."

“It does tend to be a party-pleaser,” she jokes. ”Come on, goon.” Two strong hands pull Santana to her feet, leading her quietly through the house and out to the back yard. As they pass through the sliding glass door and onto the deck, Santana notices a thick cloud of steam rising from the far corner.

“There’s a hot tub? How did everyone manage to overlook this last night?” Her aching muscles soften at just the thought of sinking into the scalding water, the jets already bubbling rapidly.

“Let’s be real, it’s probably for the best. Someone probably would have drowned,” Brittany reasons, yanking off her sweatshirt before peeling off her tshirt and tossing it aside. For a second Santana’s frozen and all she can think is _abs, abs, abs_ , because damn Brittany’s stomach is perfectly toned into a distinctive and utterly lickable six-pack. Santana has to fight her own instinct not to reach forward and lay her hands in the spaces between Brittany’s prominently protruding lower obliques and her hip bones.

“Come on, drunkie,” Brittany prods, grinning mischievously. “Get in. You’ll feel better.”

Santana shakes the cobwebs from her head and hurries to pull her clothes off. By the time she gets her shirt off completely, Brittany is already lowered into the water, her head laid back against the edge of the hot tub and sighing deeply as she relaxes against the jets. Santana unbuttons her jeans and pulls them down hastily, feeling Brittany’s eyes on her as her face immediately start to flush.

“Batman, huh?” Brittany teases, as Santana flushes even further, internally cursing at her choice of underwear last night before whispering a “shut up” and hoisting herself over the edge and plunging into the water.

The relief is immediate as she closes her eyes, each tense and exhausted muscle from the most intense week of training of her life loosening and uncoiling all at once.

“So far, this is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Santana practically moans, while Brittany continues to laugh.

“You ‘aint seen nothin’ yet. Look,” she says, getting Santana’s attention and nodding towards the rising sun.

“And just when I think it can’t get any better,” Santana whispers, watching the sky turn to bubblegum pink.

“It is pretty great, isn’t it?” Brittany agrees, never taking her eyes off of Santana and content to watch her instead of the watercolor horizon.


End file.
